Pushing away the familiar internal battle between my mind and my body, I brought my focus back to the present.
Zooming in on the photo with my two fingers, I studied his gorgeous face. He was like Hemsworth brothers gorgeous. The image of Miles as Thor made my breath stutter.
He didn’t seem like the kind of handsome man who was aware of his attractiveness, which only made my romantic heart swoon more. I had been privy to many vain men my age who took more selfies of themselves than their female counterparts did on social media. They were the kind who looked past me as if I didn’t exist.
My eyes flitted back to the photo, convincing myself it was okay to daydream about the handsome American, since I knew with certainty nothing would ever come it.
His smile didn't extend to his eyes, which I noticed when I discreetly snapped the photo.
“What are you hiding, Miles Austin?” I said aloud, noticing the deep lines on his forehead, my heart wishing it could erase whatever pain put them there. I set my phone down with a thud and leaned my chin into my hand, pushing away my half-eaten breakfast with the other. I didn’t have time for this today.
When the background photo of my family flickered on my abandoned laptop, I blew out a frustrated breath through my nose. My family treated me like a child, even though deep love was what shaped that view. What they didn’t realize was how much I could see into a person’s mind through their eyes and body language.
It was a point of pride that I could look past appearances to understand what was truly happening inside a person. I believed it was a gift God had given me, and I took it seriously. Of course, this gift didn’t extend to my interactions with men. They were a complete mystery to me.
So, I kept my focus on school. Interior design taught me skills in color, balance, and functionality. But what I loved even more than finding the perfect piece of furniture or paint color was learning about thepsychology of understanding your client. Although I lacked experience, I realized from my on-the-job experiences with my mentor from the university that listening to their stories provided the answers to creating the client’s ideal homes.
For my graduation project, I helped oversee a client’s remodel. While my mentor spoke to the clients, I noticed their young daughter seemed distressed and nervous about her new home, clinging to a storybook as if it were a lifeline. I suggested that they create a tentlike space, decorated with colorful pillows and her favorite books, somewhere she could go that made her feel calm. The client was thrilled, and my mentor praised me for the idea.
I let out a heavy sigh, grabbed my cup, and headed back inside for another espresso, abandoning my earlier thoughts of cutting back. Today seemed like a three-cup day. When I stepped outside again, my phone was vibrating with a call from my friend.
“Ciao, Ren. Must be important if you’re calling during work. You could’ve just texted me,” I joked.
“Call me a rebel, but you know I hate texting. Takes too long and I need to be quick,” she said. I could hear her heels clicking on the tile as she walked.
“You’re the only person under thirty who does. What’s up?” I asked, nestling back down into my comfy patio chair, taking a satisfying sip of my coffee.
“I’m guessing you haven’t seen the email yet since I didn’t hear from you,” she said excitedly. “You know how you’re always talking about going on an adventure?”
Renata--Ren to those closest to her--and I had known each other for the last two years of my university and had become best friends. She was a design major as well, but had graduated before me and was working for a great firm in Tuscany.
“Every. Single. Day,” I answered dramatically, mindlessly scrolling through my emails, wondering what she was referring to.
“Well, I’m about to be your hero.Guesswho I just heard is looking for some new talent?Come on, guess,” she said excitedly. Ren’s personality was like sunshine and fireworks had a baby.
“I don’t know? Give me some clues, woman.” I said absently, seeing a new email from our university, but I was too caught up in her excitement to read it correctly.
“Let’s see…she’s one of the top Italian designers. Single-handedly took on the US market.”
My hand stilled. My head popped up so fast, I thought I heard my neck crack.
“No,” I whispered.
“Yup. Thought that would get your attention.” I could almost hear her smirk. “Just got the email from the university. They’re looking for new talent willing to relocate to the US. Tell me you want to do this, Vicky,” she pleaded. Ren also knew I was hesitant to leave Mama and Rome.
“Elena Sala? Is thatwhoyou’re talking about?” Her name was spoken with reverence within the interior design world. She had become the first female Italian designer to break into the US market years earlier. Elena was my idol.
“Yes, amica.Who’syour bestie?” she asked teasingly.
“Always you. But there’s no way I’ll be chosen.”
“Won’t know til you try, girl.”
Taking a fortifying breath, I said, “I know I won’t get this, but hold on. I’m sending my CV now,” I answered, my fingers flying over my laptop. With the whoosh sound, it was done before I could talk myself out of it. Ren was chanting “do it, do it” in the background.
“Done,” I answered, my hands trembling.
“Yes, my queen! I’m so proud of you. Also, doesn’t your McHottie live in California? Same state Elena has her newest location?”
